She's Broken
by callide
Summary: Let us, together, try and remain as hopeful as possible. Try not to forget her, wherever life may take you.LarsaxPenelo
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I will only say this once: I do not own Final Fantasy 12 or any characters or places related in any way.

**She's Broken  
by:callide****  
Prologue**

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_Dear Larsa, _

Penelo is missing. 

_Informing you of this was difficult for me. This letter was a symbol, to me, of failing hope; I am no longer asking in hope, but informing in regret. You were my last hope, that maybe she was with you, but according to the date on your most recent letter you have no idea of her disappearance, let alone of her whereabouts. I was saving you to be the last informed, simply because I didn't want you to worry if it wasn't necessary; if Penelo had shown up, what be the point me telling you what had happened when she could eagerly do so in one of her letters? Much to my deepest and darkest regret, however, I am losing hope each day and am slowly coming to the conclusion that she most likely is never coming home. _

There has been a spurt of disappearances in Lowtown Rabinastre, most of which have been of women in Penelo's age group. These events started about 4 months ago, about the same time strange men had begun showing up in the city. Not one of these seventeen women has been seen again alive; two have turned up dead, brutally beaten. I naively went on without even thinking about Penelo's well being (these killings and abductions are not a completely rare occurrence in Lowtown, as sad as the truth is). Then, on one not so bright Sunday 37 days ago, Penelo didn't come home. Maybe my hope would be a little stronger if these disappearances were not an occurrence, or maybe if a dead woman with streaming blond hair, partially covering her open, unseeing, bruised eyes hadn't shown up in my garbage can. 

_Although my hope of ever seeing Penelo alive again is steadily fading, do not deny that I will dedicate the rest of my life trying to find her. I will try and keep you informed on any leads I may find, but so far I have so little, I don't know where to start. Although I am certain, if she were to show up anywhere but to me, it would be to you, Larsa. You were her very dear friend these past two years and I'm more than certain she trusted you with her life and then some. _

This, my friend, you deserve to know and I regret that I am unable to leave here for now to deliver this in person, just in case she comes home. There will always be a just in case.  
I have tried to make this letter as perfect as possible, the way I know she would have wanted it; the way she made everything she ever sent you. Please, if you hear anything, anything_ involving her, do not hesitate to inform me, no matter how trivial it may seem. _

That is my little sister and your friend out there. I won't think twice about speaking for you when I say that we love her. Let us, together, try and remain as hopeful as possible. Try not to forget her, wherever life may take you.  


_My sincerest regrets for your loss, mine and hers,  
_

_Vaan_

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	2. Living In Your Letters

AN: I changed Larsa's age to 13 from the game instead of 12 and Penelo to late 16. It seemed more realistic.

**She's Broken  
Chapter 1: Living In Your Letters**

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Larsa Solidor, Emperor and almighty ruler of the glorious nation of Archadia, fourth son of the house of Solidor, most eligible sixteen-year-old bachelor in all of Ivalice, was snoring so loud that it echoed off of his palace walls and could surely be heard in the next room. His bottom half slept in his bed and top half on the cold granite floor; a puddle of saliva pooled generously around his delicately chiseled jaw. His almost shoulder length, wispy hair was draped all over his face, his breathing gently pushing it away, then sucking it back greedily to his face. The covers on his very large, very lonely king sized bed were rolled in a ball at his feet; one immense, fluffy, luxurious ball that matched the equally luxurious drapery that was pulled back to let in as much light as possible. The mid-afternoon sun shone brilliantly into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the strongest rays of light hitting Larsa directly. The pale skin on his broad back only seemed whiter with the more light that hit him, almost like a weak glow. Thin sheets of sweat coated his back, face, legs and broadening shoulders; Larsa was going to wake up drunk, if he woke up at all that day.

Everyone, including the Counsel, knew that today and yesterday was the only two days out of the year to leave Larsa alone. He had ordered especially that no one was to enter his room under any circumstances and trusted that that word would be kept, but he took the extra precaution and locked the door anyways; no one could see what he was doing, they would lose all respect for him as a leader who does not act recklessly or with self-destruction.

His room reeked from the sour stench of someone who had consumed too much alcohol and looked as though someone who had did it in there. Larsa's honorable Emperor's clothing was thrown askew, his pants draped carelessly over his bedpost. Papers from his personal bureau littered the black marble floor with their perfect white in contrast with its opposite shade. The only paper neatly assembled, or even left on or in his desk, were 42 closed envelopes. They were stacked in piles of sixes, arranged so perfectly it would look as though their owner took great pride in them. One letter, however, the 43rd, was opened. Its contents, a single white piece of paper, was aligned neatly with where the chair should have been, as if its reader had abandoned it in the midst of a sitting.

Resting flush against Larsa's side, was a single bottle, three quarters full. Not just any bottle, but Rozarrian Puregrain, the most toxic alcoholic drink known in Ivalice for it being pure alcohol, and was illegal in Archadia. Its drinker had passed out before he was able to put its lid on; half of the contents had spilt all over the sheets beside Larsa. Some had pooled around him, but had long since dried. The situation was easy to read, and it was obvious to the onlooker what had happened here.

A carefully folded piece of paper was loosely held in the limp fingers of Larsa's hand that rested on the floor. The piece of paper looked as though it had been unfolded and refolded many times, due to its weathered edges. Its original white color had dirtied to a pale tan. The paper was freckled with many circular distortions, the kind only tears could cause.

It was Larsa's 16th birthday.

Penelo went missing a year ago today.

He had failed her. He had failed the only girl he had ever loved; his best friend. The only person left in the whole world that he knew he could always turn to and always trust, no matter how trivial or deep the issue. She always wanted to know how _he _was. Not how Archadia's commerce treaty with Rozarria is coming along, not how the rebuilding of the Empire was for the people, not how much income the agriculture generated for Archadia , but simply how he was feeling or what he was up to. She hardly ever inquired about the Empire, not because she didn't care, but because she knew that was the last thing Larsa wanted to talk about at the end of the day. Penelo only once asked for a favor from him and that was even half serious: _Larsa, do me a favor and lighten the hell up_. To her, he was never the Emperor or the Emperor's son, but always and simply, Larsa.

If he needed someone to listen, he knew no matter how bad things got here, he would always have Penelo as his safety blanket; his escape from the only life he knew. Now, Penelo was no longer in the picture, and his life went out of control. To know that he would never hear from her or speak, write, see, touch, _feel_ her ever again, was something he could hardly bare. He had promised to keep her safe, and even if he was only 13 at the time, he meant it. As time went on, he started to mean it more and more until he decided to make it his personal life's goal. _Under no circumstance_, he once vowed, _will harm be done to that woman as long as I have something to do about it. _

When Penelo went missing, he did do something about it. For a month after, searching for her was top priority of his imperials. He even left the palace on several occasions to search himself or follow a lead. Of course, they were never useful and as time wore on, the panic wore down and Larsa had to reassign his imperials; it wasn't something that directly concerned his Empire and he knew was foolish. But what didn't wear on with time, was the misery and emptiness of being alone. It was like someone had taken a piece, no, it was if someone had only _left _a piece of his soul. Although he hadn't seen her since the fall of his brother three years ago, her presence was something that always lingered. Just to know she was out there and accessible if need be was a comfort in its own. Just to know she was alive and well soothed him.

He returned to her more often then he should. Retreating to his mind to relive his few moments with her, hanging on every scratchy word Penelo had ever written to him. No matter what the letter contained, even in the few when she was disappointed with him, he read it over and over. He survived for his Empire and his people (Larsa was the unofficial keeper of peace in the already unstable Ivalice), but he only lived in her letters.

There was a crash outside of Larsa's door, most likely a servant or an Imperial knocking over the decorative armor for the ninth time. The sound was loud enough to wake Larsa up, but he refused to open his eyes. He didn't want to see what he had done to his room the night before in his drunken state; however, Larsa was still more than a little drunk to feel regret.

Larsa did not want to move. He wanted to lie in his bed, as he was, and just feel. The first things he noticed were the angry afternoon sun that was beating down directly upon him and that he was uncovered. The putrid, sour smell of alcohol rushed his senses with each inhale; it quickly dawned on him that he was lying in it. The warm, glass bottle of Puregrain that rested against his back was pleasant; however, he knew that most of the bottle must have been spilt on account of its lack of lid. The air was just as still as the room. He even felt the folded piece of paper in his left hand. The only thing he could not feel was pain.

He almost smiled at how much of a help the Puregrain had been. It had gotten him so drunk so quick, that it even skipped the sloppy depressive part of being drunk; it had jumped right to the part where one forgets. The drink would have been useful over the past year and he promised himself right then that he needed more very soon. He wouldn't overdo it all the time, but at moments like these, erasing was better than feeling.

Larsa would get up that day. If he cleaned up well enough, which was a valid skill of his, no one would suspect his over indulgence had ever occurred. He was to ask of a favor from his two friends; he needed the Puregrain before its alluring effects wore off. He was afraid of what he should really be feeling right now.

Remorse washed over him when a thought suddenly occurred to him: _Penelo wouldn't have wanted it this way. _

But she's not there.

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There may be a few gramatical errors that I missed and I apologize for them.

R&R please:)


	3. Don't Wait

AN: My next update shouldn't take as long. Life just got in the way. Again, I apologize for any grammar mistakes I may have made or missed.

I would also like to thank my reviewers: Lady Androgene, Toxo, Cloner4000, Mariagoner, angelkisses84, and Zaz9-zaa0. You guys are great and thanks again so much for the unexpected reviews.:)

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**She's Broken  
Chapter 2: Don't Wait**

Imperial armor was, on the whole, not a very comfortable uniform to wear. It was heavy, it was made of metal, and it was very sweaty. One could not simply remove and outer layer without having to remove the entire suit; also removal of the armor was non negotiable during shifts. It seemed that only the Imperials adhered to this rule, while most of the Judges took advantage of their Emperor's vulnerability as of late and chose to neglect pieces of the armor; if they chose to wear any at all. The recent summer was the hottest in memory to most, but the Imperials remained loyal to the code. Having to wear one all day was defiantly not a perk of the already tedious job. Since Larsa became Emperor, excitement during the days of the Imperials consisted of I Spy and the palace maids, but that was a different type of excitement altogether.

Two Imperials, which was not a rare sight to see since Imperials were always assigned in partners, stood as properly as two Imperials could stand in the blistering summer's heat. They were assigned to guard the Emperor Larsa's door until his departure. They were instructed by a Judge only to enter the room if the sounds from inside indicated so. Later, before Larsa incarcerated himself into his room, he firmly instructed them both not to enter under any circumstance unless it was one with the nature of a national disaster. These Imperials were no strangers to Larsa's company and his sometimes rash directions; they agreed and saluted him as he closed the door. They guarded most of the night, took a brief break to sleep, and then resumed their duty; they had been there ever since that morning.

The Imperial on the left was rather tall and possessed impossibly broad shoulders while the one on the right seemed to posses not only smaller set shoulders, but a somewhat delicate frame. Other than those not-so-obvious-differences, the Imperials looked identical in their heavy armor. The two men appeared on guard, but were really in deep conversation.

"You 'hink he's ok in'ere?" the broader one on the left said to his partner. "Iss almot hass been a full day. Maybe one o' us could go make ssure? He still doen't know about 'is ring being stolen."

"No… what would give you the impression that he would be ok?" the smaller man shot back in his intense, Arcadian accent, seemingly oblivious to his friend's obvious speech impediment. "Besides, Lord Larsa specifically said that we were to leave him be until he immerges from his chambers; unless of course we were on the brink of war. Now, he probably will be upset about his ring being stolen, but his solitude is seemingly more important today. Today is not the right day to defy him and you of all people should know that."

"I know, Culverin, but he sshouldn't be alone at a time like 'is. We're his friends. How long mut you 'till call him 'ord Larsa? He doen't like 'at," the broad man said, his voice thick with compassion for his Emperor and annoyance towards his partner, Culverin.

"I do not care. I will continue to show respect to our Emperor, not matter how close we may become and no matter the situation. He will always be my Emperor and I will always be indebt to him as his Imperial. Maybe some day you will understand that, Eonn."

"You're forgetting 'at I'm just a' mut of an Imperial a' you, but we aren't like uh ret of 'em," Eonn shot back, detached, with difficulty, and sounded like nonsense to those who were not used to him. "He trutss uss to be hi' friends and 'ee him a' jut Larssa and jut Larssa needss uss right now."

There was a brief and uncomfortable silence as the firm words exchanged lingered in the overheated and stale air of the palace hall.

"Do you ever wonder about her?" Culverin said, just above a whisper, his smooth voice now gentle and at ease. "What she was really like? There is a part of me that wishes we could have met her. She seemed spectacular. Like one of those women that have their own little way of knowing you better than you know yourself."

"Yeah, sshe wa' beautiful and sshe made Larsa sso happy. Sshe wa' a piece of him, she wa'. 'ey were s-sso in love…" Eonn trailed off.

Culverin was quick to pick up, "…Now Lord Larsa can never age without thinking of the piece he has lost. He blames himself, you know. He will never tell, but I know he blames himself; I have heard him muttering that he let her down. Lord Larsa has the need, by nature, to please everyone and now he cannot please the one he wants to most by simply keeping her alive."

Eonn sighed, "…Larssa really loved 'er."

"No Eonn, Lord Larsa really _loves_ her," Culverin said with a deep sense of finality and took a deep breath before he carried on. "She is not dead to him yet and probably never will be."

-

Larsa was still buzzed after he had awoken. In that time, he was to perform his amazing act of covering up and cleaning up. It was a talent he was sure, among many things; he inherited from his late eldest brother, Ferdias, who had been notorious for his outrages temper tantrums and his infamous, explosive methods of self-destruction. This included, yet again among many things: binge drinking of the best spirits, sex with too many distrusted resources, and various illegal drugs he obtained through the Dark Trades in Old Archades. Ferdias was no great influence or presence in Larsa's life when he was alive (he was always too preoccupied with the latter methods of self destruction to pay attention to his youngest brother), but the death of Ferdias meant the death of the Emperor to be. This event was the one that thrust the responsibility upon Vayne as the future Emperor.

Tylin, the late third heir of the Empire, whom was closer with Ferdias than Larsa was, disclosed to his youngest brother that he hoped Ferdias was to be be excused of his Emperor duties before the time came. He said that Ferdias was too destructive to peacefully rule anything else but his own life and hoped that Larsa turned out nothing like him. As Larsa grew up, he started to see Ferdias in himself, despite Tylin's hopes. Ferdias was passionate in everything he did: decision making, fighting for what he believed in, fighting in general, and loving; especially loving. When Ferdias loved, be it a woman or a brother, he loved them with every fiber of his being. Every moment he endured, every breath he took, and every tear he cried was for his loved one. This reminded Larsa more of himself than anyone else, they way he ruled his Empire and the way he loved; especially the way he loved.

The fact that Larsa saw Ferdias in himself came also in a literal sense. Looking at old images, Larsa concluded that he resembled Ferdias stronger now than anyone else in his known gene pool, including his parents. He and Ferdias shared the same, fine, oddly coulored hair, the same feminine build before puberty and the same broad one after. Ferdias was the tallest Solidor man, standing a little over six feet, slightly taller than Larsa, but Larsa was still just sixteen and would probably catch up with his late brother before the end of his growing. Larsa had once been the shortest of his party, even shorter than Penelo, but now he was sure he was a good head taller than her, if not a little more.

Larsa interrupted his current thoughts about his late brother to entertain an entirely different and more troubling one: if-when (he always corrected himself on this) he and Penelo met again, would she recognize him? He was so much taller now and his features more defined. He was told in the past, and he had to agree, that he carried somewhat of a feminine heir about him; now, when he looked in the mirror, he could see little to no trace of this anywhere on his body. His shoulders had become broad and his voice had matured immensely. The only thing that had physically stayed the same had to be his eyes. Though, Larsa was sure the expression he wore in them was different from a year ago.

Larsa came slowly back into focus and decided that if he was to get anything done that day, he was to start now. So, with great effort, the Emperor removed himself from his alcohol-soaked bed.

First, he started with the countless papers strewn across the room. Many were destroyed the night before and had been in more than one piece, forcing Larsa to discard them. He carefully placed the letters stacked on his desk neatly in the steel safe behind his bed where they usually resided. Keeping them in his desk was too much to bear and he found himself running into them more often then not. Larsa gathered his random articles of clothing draped over the various furniture and found, lucky, that he hadn't damaged them. Damaging those clothes would have been too great of a problem to sort out himself. Most were priceless family heirlooms that had been handed down the Solidor bloodline for hundreds of years. Turning his attention towards his bed, he then took all of his sour-smelling sheets off of his bed and rinsed them out in his bathroom. There was no way he would have the servants clean his sheets; the gossip would spread like the contagious disease it is.

The whole room took almost an hour to properly sort out, and by time Larsa was finished, the alcohol's revered buzz had worn off. He stopped and looked around the room, wearing a smirk as he said to himself, "Good Ol' Ferd would be proud." Larsa often disgraced his brother with this nickname.

The work had distracted Larsa from his emotions and how raw they were today; but slowly and surely, it was all starting to return to him. This time, there was nothing left to cover it up.

Something motivated Larsa to step outside onto his small balcony at that moment, sans shirt. He didn't know why, but for some reason, he figured going outside was the right thing to do. Penelo loved it outside.

He twisted the sliver handles on the double doors at the same time, pushed them open, and stepped outside against the wind. The late afternoon summer sun's comfortable rays of heat hit the unclothed portions of his body gently and the breeze played with his hair, which he still had to wash. Larsa couldn't help but inhale deeply as the outside consumed him. The aging summer day's air was a smell he had always enjoyed. It reminded him that dusk was to fall soon. There was something about summer nights that Larsa had always been enamored with.

The balcony offered Larsa a plain and endless view of his capital city. As a child, he often thought that he could see all of Ivalice from here. Through habit, he scanned the horizon, looking for whatever wanted to be seen. The sun was just beginning to set and the sky was still a little blue. Airships, big and small, freckled the skies reminding Larsa of coordinated flies. The sky's business day was coming to a close and everyone wanted to get in their last minute errands before heading home. However beautiful the view was, it never showed him what he always looked for. '_She's out there_,' Larsa thought, '_dead or alive, Penelo is out there without me.' _

He quickly pushed away from the balcony and back into his room. He wouldn't let himself enter into that depressive train of thought when he didn't have the energy for it. Besides, he still had places to go before the sun set.

-

After Larsa made sure he rinsed himself of every impurity, there was a knock at the door and the familiar ringing of his name spoken with a speech impediment, "Larssa? 're you ok in 'ere?"

Larsa's first reaction was anger. He specifically instructed Eonn not to bother him today unless it was dire and Larsa knew right away that nothing was desperately wrong with his empire. Eonn had a habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve; that was most likely because it was so big. Despite his initial reaction, Larsa still had to smile at his friend; he was simply concerned.

"Yes, Eonn, I'm doing just fine," Larsa spoke through his smile.

"Oh…" Larsa could tell Eonn was thinking hard before he apologized. Eonn always apologized for everything.

"I'm 'eally sssorry Larssa fer talkin' 'o you 'en you said nah to."

_'Of course,' _Larsa thought, '_typical Eonn.'_

"It is quite alright," Larsa smirked.

Larsa was about to dismiss Eonn, but then changed his mind, "Actually, Eonn, would you and Culverin mind coming in here? I have a favor to ask of you."

Larsa received no answer from behind his door. He knew his Imperial friends were checking the halls to make sure no one saw them enter. It was a ritual they performed whenever they entered Larsa's room to make sure no Judges saw; if they did, they would become curious and follow behind the low-ranking soldiers. The notch on Larsa's door finally clicked and the two men entered, gently easing the door shut behind them. They looked to him for further instruction as the smaller one on the right saluted him.

"Please remove your helmets, Imperials," Larsa sighed and sat down on his perfectly made bed, "it is simply too hot for those today."

Both of the Imperials seemed more than eager to remove the helmets. The broader one revealed a short mop of sweaty bright blond hair and the smaller one revealed a longer mop of sweaty chestnut brown hair.

"How are you today, Culverin?" Larsa casually asked the smaller brunette.

Culverin brought his hand up to his head in a salute, "I am doing well, my Lord."

"That is very well, Culverin, but no fancy titles today. It is necessary for the favor I am to ask of you both."

Culverin put his hand back to his side in slight disappointment with himself.

"It would seem that I need the two of you to accompany me to Old Archades tonight, but not as an Emperor and his two Imperials…" Larsa's regular confidence-ridden tone dwindled away as his sentence did. He realized he was asking his friends to commit an act that would force the Senate to demote them to street soldiers. This would greatly affect their careers and his well-being seeing as they are his only friends who were not Judges or royalty.

"Meaning..," Culverin noticed the glazed over look in Larsa's tired eyes and it made him nervous enough to interrupt his Emperor's train of thought.

Larsa snapped back to his reality and said, "This excursion is not one that my Judges will know of. This also means that, tonight, Archadia is in the hands of the Senate without them even knowing."

"So frankly you are asking us to accompany you, the three of us as citizens, to Old Archades?" Culverin said with hesitation coating his voice.

Larsa simply nodded.

Culverin seemed appalled and was quick to voice his opinion, "But, my Lord-"

"Ah, Culverin, no Lords are here at this time," Larsa interrupted.

This only seemed to anger Culverin further as he rolled his eyes at Larsa. "This is ridiculous. You cannot leave your throne without alerting the Senate."

"Oh, but I can, my friend, and I will-" Larsa stood up and walked over to his desk where he concealed the empty bottle of Rozarrian Puregrain, -if you come with me or not. I am only asking this of you because I have learned over my 16 years it is best to travel in groups at night. But as you may be able to tell," Larsa held up the empty bottle of Puregrain and watched his friends' eyes grow with shock and astonishment, " I am not looking out for what is best for me as of late."

"L-Larssa! 'at 'tuff iss p-poison!" Eonn exclaimed, his speech failing him in its haste.

"Good men become broken ones very fast with the consummation of that _abhorrent_ substance. There is no way I will aide you in obtaining more." Culverin said with finality through his clenched teeth.

"I am not going to make it habit. Besides, you know what day it is," the authority in Larsa's voice deflated to a mere whisper.

"S-sshe 'ouldna 'anted 'is," Eonn added on the same level.

"Why does it matter what she would have wanted? She's not even here," Larsa shot back at Eonn with darkness laced in his voice. He placed the empty bottle of the Rozarrian Puregrain on his desk. "Why do I even let my hope continue to burn?" Larsa asked his friends in a much more calm tone as he sat down in his desk's chair. "I should smite it for my own good. The chances she is out there at all-"

"You don't mean 'at!"

Both Culverin and Larsa looked at Eonn in mild shock at his outburst. Culverin was the first to speak, "Maybe our Lo- Larsa should just move on. He cannot continue to do this to himself. It is not healthy for him or his kingdom and he knows the Penelo's memory deserves to live in a joyous, less poisonous environment. He cannot simply wallow in his pity forever."

"You can't say 'at Culv! You jus' cannaw! I do 'gree 'at it is naw right 'or Larssa to drink 'imself blind, 'ut if 'e reallly 'oves 'er, 'ere is no 'ay 'e can f-forget 'er like you say!"

Eonn got so worked up, his speech became even difficult for Culverin to understand with all of the breaks and the forcing of syllables, but both men eventually understood what Eonn was trying to say.

Larsa sighed, "He is right Culverin. Do not humor me with such things like that I can never do or possess. It was foolish of me to even suggest it. Maybe if you knew her it would be easier for you both to understand. Like really _knew_ her, not simply from a letter or my stories."

Culverin suddenly felt really small and spoke in a small voice, "I may not have known her personally, but I knew how happy she made you and I know how much of you she took with her when she went away. _I_ apologize for even suggesting it."

Larsa smiled a melancholic smile at Culverin; his sign of accepting Culverin's apology. He then asked if there were any events he had missed in the past day. Larsa paled and became more alert when the two soldiers looked at one another in anguish.

"What? What happened?" Larsa sat on the edge of his chair.

"It's your mother's ring," it was silently decided between the soldiers that Culverin would break the news to Larsa.

"My mother's ring," Larsa said with hesitation. Culverin took the hint that Larsa was not certain on which ring he was speaking of.

"_The_ ring; the ring you were to give to your wife…"

Culverin and Eonn winced as they watched the colour drain from Larsa's already miserable face. There was a silence before Culverin realized Larsa was waiting for an answer without asking for one.

"It was stolen last night from its casing in the library. No one was found or even seen entering the library by the night guards. Everyone is just as much in the dark as you are. I am truly sorry, Lo-Larsa, the Senate in looking into it."

The silence that followed was thick with Larsa's shock and despair; it was not broken by one of the three men in the room, but the shattering of the glass bottle of Puregrain that was in Larsa's trembling hands before it was dropped to the floor.

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End file.
